Do You Believe In Nothing?
by Daughter of Thranduil
Summary: An elaboration of Grantaire's failure at the Barriere du Maine. Enjolras can't forgive him for letting him down. PLEASE review!
1. Grantaire Fails

**Er..Bonjour again.**

**Yes, I've written something else (ducks) but I'm hoping that this reads better than the last atrocity I posted, which by the way I've deleted. I still haven't really got over the writer's block but I've been really bored all day (I can't get out because of the snow) and so I wrote this.**

**It is based on the chapter 'Enjolras and his Lieutenants', where Enjolras gives Grantaire a chance, and Grantaire fails him. The domino dialogue is straight from that chapter.**

**PLEASE review and let me know if you think this is any better than my recent stuff. If it is, then I'll continue with it. If not, I'll stop posting rubbish until I get some decent ideas.**

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own the boys. If I did, they'd be hidden under my bed and NOBODY would be getting them back!**

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In a shadowy, cobbled Paris street, a young man was walking. He walked with smart, confidant steps; his fine quality boots making soft clicking noises as his heels made contact with the ground. He was dressed in tight black breeches, a white shirt with loose sleeves, a simple black cravat and a dazzlingly bright Robespierre waistcoat, embroidered with gold braid. His face was strikingly handsome; flawless and smooth, and framed by shining blond hair that was tied back with a red ribbon. His expression was one of intense concentration and his blue eyes fairly glittered with gratification. His name was Julien Enjolras.

The night was dark and the air was uncomfortably still and hot, but despite this Julien Enjolras felt uncommonly satisfied. Finally, after more than a year of debating, planning and envisioning the future, the Amis de L'ABC were ready to make their stand.

Well, almost ready. At the moment, his trusted friends were on their respective errands across the city, summoning support and finding out who precisely they could count on when the time came to take action. He himself was on his way to meet with the men of the Cougourde d'Aix, and he was confidant that this meeting would conclude satisfactorily.

The thought of so many prospective comrades sent a shiver of joy down his spine. At last they could make a stand against the heinous injustice in France. At last they could make a difference! At last they could finally change life for good! Enjolras was a young man of only twenty two – and he looked even younger than that – but his thoughts were unencumbered by the normal distractions of such an age. Revolution was his only ambition.

He tugged on his cravat; loosening it slightly, but not enough to make it untidy. Though everyone believed Enjolras to be a somewhat emotionless sort of fellow, most of his confidence, at the moment, came from the fact that it was Les Amis who were assisting him. While he did not betray it very often, except perhaps to his closest friend Combeferre, Enjolras trusted his friends inordinately and took a great comfort in their faith and devotion both to the cause and his abilities as a leader. He had a great respect for them all, from the cheerful Joly to fiery Bahorel.

He did not fail to recognise any of _their _merits either. He expected a lot of success tonight, due to the Amis' own valuable abilities. After all, who could fail to be moved by the gentle determination of Combeferre; the witty exuberance of Courfeyrac; the wise gaiety of Joly or the passionate affirmations of Feuilly? They were all admirable young men who cared about their countrymen and about each other; united through unbreakable friendship and a desire to alter the future for the better.

There was, however, one ami – if he even could be called that, really – whom Enjolras was not so confidant in. Grantaire.

There was no mistaking it, Grantaire _was_ a clever fellow – he often spoke of the Gods of ancient Myth; he could make a speech where he cited a textbook's worth of historical facts and he could be very witty in his own ironic way. The trouble with Grantaire was that he seemed determined to waste all the good qualities he had by drowning them in alcohol. He would drink himself insensible and be reduced to rambling and Enjolras who, having no real vice of that kind, failed completely to understand his addiction. Yet, earlier that evening, Enjolras had given Grantaire a chance to prove himself.

When conversing about their destinations with his friends, they had realised that they had left one key point uncovered: the Barrière du Maine. Enjolras's first instinct had been to take both the Cougourde and Barrière du Maine himself that evening, but Grantaire had earnestly begged to have the task entrusted to him instead.

Julien had been disbelieving, asking Grantaire how he could possibly do the task properly, when he believed in nothing. But Luc Grantaire had beat down his arguments. He had reappeared in a Robespierre waistcoat, and promised to talk of revolutionary principles, of changing the future, of everything that the others would speak of. He'd said he was capable of rousing speech, that he knew the Constitution of the Year Two; that he would not fail.

It had been on the tip of Enjolras's rather sharp tongue to say that he would never entrust so important a mission to the group sceptic who was inebriated more than he was sober, when he met Combeferre's eyes. Etienne Combeferre, who saw the good in everyone, had given Enjolras a look of gentle reproach. They'd argued about Grantaire the night before, and it flooded back to Julien's mind.

flashback+

"He is no use for anything, Etienne." said Enjolras heatedly. "Before, when we were only debating, his presence bore no threat, but now it is different! It is serious now, and he has far too careless a tongue. Besides, he does not believe in our cause anyway!"

"You are so quick to condemn him, Julien." Combeferre had scolded him softly. "Yet he never misses a meeting, and he can usually recite most of what's been said by heart. Does that not say something of his beliefs?"

"But he mocks the whole thing!" cried Enjolras. "Whenever I try to have a conversation with him, he brings out all this 'Marble Statue' nonsense. He looks upon a revolution as one big joke!"

"Are you so sure of that?" asked Combeferre, his brown eyes glowing with compassion. "Julien, _mon ami_, men like Luc will not follow you if you disdain them so. Give him a chance – you mat be glad to see yourself proven wrong."

end of flashback+

Combeferre had smiled encouragingly at him, so Enjolras had swallowed his doubts and allowed Grantaire to be his representative at the Barrière du Maine. And Combeferre had smiled at him warmly.

But now, though…now Enjolras was beginning to have second thoughts. _Could_ Grantaire really be trusted with a task so important? Would he keep his promises? There was only one way to find out!

The Barrière du Maine was in reasonable proximity to his own destination. It would do his schedule no great harm if he were to drop past for a moment or two, and check on the progress of Grantaire.

He strode briskly along towards the café, and when he got there, he swung the door open forcefully and stood with his arms crossed over his chest. No one looked across at him, but had they torn their gaze from their liquor and pipes, they'd have seen what looked like a living incarnation of Saint-Just in the doorway, his glittering eyes fixed icily on the man in the corner with the bright waistcoat.

Enjolras glared at the oblivious Grantaire with a rage so profound, he could barely think straight. Granted, he was relatively sober, but instead of doing what he'd been asked to do…

'Double Six'

'Four'

'Blast! I can't go!'

'You'll have to pass. A two.'

'A six.'

He was playing dominoes, and so taken up with the game, he didn't even notice what was going on around him!

Enjolras's beautiful countenance was so fierce, it was barely recognisable. He longed to simply run over and tear the waistcoat from Grantaire's back. He looked down at his own Robespierre waistcoat, fingering the gold braid softly and reverently, as if in apology to the guillotined revolutionary, on behalf of the man who sat in the corner of the smoke-filled room, without a care in the world for what Robespierre had done.

With gritted teeth and a glower that could freeze water, Enjolras slammed the door again and continued on his way. His fists were balled and he was shaking with sheer rage. He was an honest-minded and fair young man for the most part (if a little stubborn), but he found Grantaire's failure utterly unforgivable. Had Joly or Combeferre done this, he would probably have overlooked it, but who could accept such behaviour from the man who only two hours ago had begged for the task, and called him ungrateful for wanting to refuse him. Anyway, Joly and Combeferre would never have let him down like that. They were both far too dedicated and eager to change Paris for the better.

"You were wrong, Etienne!" he said to himself grimly. "I wish you weren't; but you were completely, utterly wrong!"

And so, irritably pushing his shining blond hair out of his eyes, Enjolras continued towards the Cougourde d'Aix feeling very bitter indeed, while Grantaire, inside the café, slammed his final domino down on the table and cried triumphantly:

"Ha, a three! I win!"

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**btw: I did check the book and couldn't find anything about what Enjolras was wearing that night, so I gave him a Robespierre waistcoat.**

**If you think it is worth continuing, I'll have Enjolras confront Grantaire and brew over with Combeferre next.**


	2. I Should Not Have Trusted You

**CHAPTER 2 - I SHOULD NOT HAVE TRUSTED YOU**

It was well after midnight when Enjolras left the Cougourde d'Aix. The meeting had gone exceptionally well and he should have been overjoyed. He ran over the figures they had promised him in his head and gave a heavy sigh of mingled satisfaction and disappointment.

He had lost the soaring eloquence and lively wit he had shown just fifteen minutes ago. A black humour, most unusual for his impassioned and devoted mind, had firmly descended upon him, snuffing out the flame of happiness that had been lit by the meeting's success.

The image of Grantaire playing dominoes would not leave his mind, though he could not imagine why. He sternly told himself that he should not feel so hurt by this but, for some weird reason, he did. He felt let down and betrayed by the group sceptic, who'd promised to do so well. To top it all, Grantaire's failure meant that he had missed out on a valuable report and the anger was bubbling like fire in his passionate young heart.

"Had Etienne or Christophe done this to me, I should be distraught – they are my best friends!" he said to himself. "But I care not a jot for Grantaire and his senseless rambles! I should not feel hurt! No, I am _not_ hurt! I am furious, yes, but I will not let this bother me!"

And so Enjolras tried to swallow the bitter feeling of betrayal that made his throat tighten and his fists clench as he stomped home angrily. Well, it would hardly be apt to call it 'stomping' – Enjolras was far too elegant and controlled for such actions. He was walking with brisk, angry strides that clattered loudly on the smooth cobbles, while an angry tirade of thoughts flowed through his solemn young mind.

His return journey brought him once more past the Barrière du Maine. He cast a glower towards its doorway, ready to continue walking, when a bright figure stumbled over the threshold…

Grantaire. Utterly inebriated.

Not trusting his control over his anger, Enjolras turned on his heel to walk away before he could harm his failed Ami. He was halted once again by his name being called in a slurred voice.

"Enjolras! Fancy meeting…you here." Grantaire staggered towards him with a beaming smile. Enjolras dug his fingernails into his palms, glaring at him with a countenance so icy, he really might have been carved from stone. If looks could kill, Grantaire would have just gulped down his very last glass of absinthe.

"It's a nice night!" Grantaire observed cheerfully, throwing an arm familiarly around Enjolras's shoulders and walking along with him. "Where's Com'ferre?"

"At home, I would expect. He'll have done his duty for the republic, the same as all the others will have!" Enjolras spoke with frigid contempt, as he fiercely shook Grantaire's arm away. Grantaire simply continued to grin, too drunk to comprehend.

"You know, there was a man who looked like he had…" Grantaire giggled, not finishing his sentence. "You better not tell Joly. He'll think its contagious, silly boy!"

"Christophe may have an over active imagination when it comes to his health but he is one of the smartest, bravest, most considerate men I know!" snapped Enjolras, halting and scowling at Grantaire. "He is devoted to the cause and devoted to his friends. You have no right, _no_ right whatsoever to criticise him!"

They stood facing each other on the street. Their waistcoats were identical, yet in every other matter they were complete opposites. Enjolras's face was uncommonly white and smooth, his eyes blue and glittering; his straight blond hair was tied back and there was a glare of absolute derision across his face. Grantaire on the other hand, was tanned, with a bruise on his jaw (a souvenir of his last drunken encounter). His raven curls fell onto his forehead and into his half-focused emerald eyes. His expression was one of comfortable contentment, despite the glare of which he was on the receiving end.

"Why am I even wasting my breath on you?" Enjolras's lip curled into a sneer. "You're not going to remember a word come morning! Go back to where you belong, Grantaire, go back to your absinthe! You are not worthy of that waistcoat!"

"Julien…" Grantaire laid a tentative hand on Enjolras's arm. He wasn't sure what was happening, exactly, but he didn't want Enjolras to leave.

"Just let me be! I knew there was no point in trusting you! I can't believe I was so stupid! Go sleep it off, Grantaire. Do what you do best!"

With that, Enjolras wrenched his arm free and strode off, leaving a baffled Luc Grantaire in his wake. He had drunken far too much to comprehend what had just happened and therefore, his spirits were only slightly dampened as he began to stagger home. Enjolras's words had chilled him a very little, but that chill was quickly thawed by the liquid warmth of the alcohol in his stomach.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Enjolras simmered even more than he had before, as he turned the corner. Had he really believed that Grantaire was capable of keeping his word? Of course he hadn't! The man was hardly capable of getting through a meeting without drinking half a bottle of absinthe. He rarely spoke sense and when he did, it was only to laugh at him or tease him. He had _known_ that Grantaire was going to let him down! Why had he let Combeferre talk him into giving the drunkard a chance? Why, in the name of all that was righteous, had he given him that task? He'd always known that Grantaire was worthless!

"A worthless, incompetent, drunken wastrel!" Julien snarled to himself, as he opened the door to the building where he and Combeferre shared rooms. He paused outside the door of the apartment which was occupied by Courfeyrac and Prouvaire.

He thought briefly of Courfeyrac; cheerful, confident Courfeyrac. He was a law student, with a mischievous, sometimes juvenile sense of humour; a bit of a Casanova, who did not take his studies too seriously. Yet for all that, he was loyal, steadfast, kind-hearted and utterly determined. It was certain, Enjolras thought bitterly, that he had not failed in his task tonight, whatever distractions had come his way.

Still occupied with these thoughts, Enjolras climbed the stairs and let himself into his own apartment, only refraining from slamming the door by reminding himself that Combeferre was probably asleep - even with everything that had happened, his disgust and anger with Grantaire could never outweigh the affection and closeness he had with Combeferre.

Enjolras proceeded through to the bedroom and, in the dimness of his shadowy surroundings, made out the still figure of Combeferre lying in the bed opposite his own, breathing evenly. So he was asleep.

Trying his utmost to be silent, Julien Enjolras undressed forcefully in the darkness; tearing his cravat, waistcoat and shirt off and throwing them at the foot of his bed, before whipping down his breeches and pulling his nightshirt on savagely; as if treating his garments roughly would somehow banish his anger. He pulled out his hair-ribbon and then threw himself onto his bed with an angry sigh, shutting his eyes, determined not to think of Grantaire's failure a moment longer. He had just rolled over and settled down when a familiar gentle voice cut through the gloom.

"Julien, what's the matter?"

**PLEASE REVIEW**


	3. Combeferre Is Always Right

**Thanks for the reviews. Keep them coming please: )**

**I know that Enjolras is supposed to be an only son, but that is the one detail from the book that I have changed. Sorry if this annoys you.**

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**CHAPTER 3 - COMBEFERRE IS ALWAYS RIGHT**

"Etienne?" Enjolras sat up in bed, startled to hear his friend's voice when he'd been so sure that Combeferre was slumbering. "I thought you were asleep."

"Did you honestly think I would rest easy before you were safely returned from a potentially dangerous task?" Combeferre's quiet voice was amused. "Some one has got to make sure you keep out of trouble! Your rashness will get you arrested one of these days and you're no use to the republic in prison!"

Normally, teasing comments like those would have made Enjolras laugh or dryly retort that Combeferre's tendency to fuss over him was like that of a mother hen. This time, however, he just gave a sigh that held more weariness than Combeferre could bear to hear. But, as ever, the revolution was the first thing on Julien's mind.

"How did things go at Picpus, Etienne?" he asked, the strain in his voice very notable.

"Excellently, _mon ami_." replied Combeferre, sitting up and swinging his legs onto the floor. "But I will tell you about that in the morning; not before."

Enjolras herd a soft creak as he raised a hand to rub his tired eyes. The next moment, he felt his mattress dip as Combeferre sat on the bottom of his bed.

"What's the matter?" asked Combeferre again, in a voice full of concern. "Didn't things at the Cougourde go well?"

"It went very well, Etienne." sighed Enjolras. "We will be able to count on their support when the time is right. It is not that which bothers me…I was on my way there when I decided to stop by the Barrière du Maine. I only wanted to see how it was going; to see if he was keeping his word and…he was playing _dominoes_ Etienne! He was sitting there wasting his time, wasting the chance we gave him! He failed us all! He's proved himself as useless as I've always said, the drunken…"

"Hold a moment, Julien! Calm down!" Combeferre put a hand on his shoulder. "Did you talk to him?"

"Of course I didn't!" said Enjolras irritably. "He didn't even know I was there; he was so caught up in the damned game! He didn't even attempt to get their attention! He had the perfect opportunity to summon their support and he threw it away! And to think that he begged so ardently to be trusted, the hypocritical blackguard!"

"Don't call him that, Julien!" pleaded Combeferre, who was somewhat alarmed by his friend's fury. Enjolras and Grantaire had never seen eye to eye - Enjolras had believed while Grantaire had scoffed; Enjolras had scowled while Grantaire had grinned – but he'd never heard Julien talk about Grantaire with such violent disgust in his voice. "Believing does not come as easily to him as it does to you."

"He believes in nothing!" said Enjolras derisively. "He attends our meetings only to ramble nonsense and sneer at what we hope to achieve!"

"Yet he always comes back." said Combeferre gently, and the hand tightened on Enjolras's shoulder. "Doesn't that tell you something?"

"That he needs somewhere to go and drink himself insensible!" replied Enjolras, growing furious again. "Just like he did tonight. He crossed my path on the way home, Etienne! He was practically out of his senses! He couldn't even remember what he set out to do and he did not speak a word of the republic all night! I trusted him, Etienne! I trusted him and he let me down!"

Combeferre was quick to see through his friend's cold anger. He could see that it was the staggering hurt inside Enjolras's heart that was fuelling it. Julien was more hurt to have his trust betrayed than he was scornful of Grantaire's failure, though of course the stubborn boy would never admit to such feelings! He also knew that, when Enjolras's trust was broken, it was a long time before he would consent to trust the offender once more.

"Julien," he began, in what Courfeyrac had mischievously dubbed his 'big brother' voice, putting an arm around Enjolras's shoulders. "We cannot all be like you. You find all the comfort you need in your soaring faith and you need no other distraction. Belief is as natural to you as song is to a nightingale. Others are not so lucky, and they seek their solace elsewhere. I know Grantaire makes you despair, and I know you want to see him put his finer qualities to good use. But none of us can fully comprehend what he is going through, or the demons he is fighting within himself, so I do not think any of us can rightfully judge him."

Combeferre's philosophic and reasonable speech struck through Enjolras's layer of hardened anger and touched the gentler, more understanding part of his heart that was so rarely shown to anyone else.

"Why are you always right?" he asked with the ghost of a smile, laying his head on Combeferre's shoulder affectionately. There was no impropriety or hidden meaning in the gesture; it was simply a deep and loving brotherly affection that was shared by both of them.

"Because I'm older, wiser and altogether more sane than you are!" grinned Combeferre, touching his head against the blond locks. "Now get some sleep. We shall have a demanding day tomorrow."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The next day was Thursday, and all the students had morning lectures, so although Enjolras and Combeferre walked to the university together; they separated when they reached the grounds. Enjolras made his way to the _Palais de Justice_ with his usual brisk efficiency, his mind still swimming with the events of the night before. He was dressed in his sombre black attire once more; his revered red garment from the last night hidden safely in his wardrobe. And, despite the momentary calm that Combeferre's fair and thoughtful words had caused, Enjolras knew that he had not forgiven Grantaire.

He found the lecture room very crowded when he went through the door.

"_Bon matin_, Jerôme." he said quietly, sitting down in his usual place beside Courfeyrac, who was frantically completing the homework from two nights ago. "How did last night's…errand go?" They needed to be very cautious of how much they talked around others, whose loyalties they were not sure of – the time was too close now to start being careless.

"It went satisfactorily, on the whole." said Courfeyrac softly, absently toying with his raven black hair. "I've got a list of the numbers in my satchel. And I rather believe that Jehan's went quite reasonably too, though perhaps not as well as it might. It must have run on rather late though because I practically had to drag him out of bed this morning."

"All right." Enjolras nodded, just as their professor strode into the class and began barking instructions to turn to a certain page in their books. "Say no more just now. We're meeting in the Musain at six o'clock to compare reports."

Courfeyrac nodded silently, his face unusually solemn as they shared looks that spoke a wealth of meaning and could not have been deciphered by anyone who was not a Friend of the ABC. Then they both bent their heads over their books and began to work earnestly. The work and planning they were doing for their upcoming insurrection was leaving them little time for their coursework!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"I know that my temperature is far too high!" groaned Joly, as he Combeferre and Prouvaire walked into the Café Musain at half-past five. "Does my face look flushed, Etienne?"

"Yes, Christophe, it does." said Combeferre dryly. "And it is flushed because you are making yourself nervous by convincing yourself that you are ill! There is nothing wrong with you."

Joly bit his lip and began to absent-mindedly feel the glands at his throat. Combeferre shook his head in exasperated amusement and pulled his hands away. Joly shrugged ruefully and stuck them in his pockets instead, blushing at Prouvaire's grin.

When the three of them proceeded through to the back room, the found Courfeyrac and Enjolras already seated at a table, with steaming cups of coffee in front of them. Enjolras was holding a letter in front of him. To everyone's surprise, he was laughing.

"We're going to wait until everyone is here before we start." said Courfeyrac, who was toiling over an essay. "We shall just have to repeat everything otherwise."

"Who is the letter from, Julien?" asked Combeferre curiously, though his heart was warmed to see Enjolras smiling. Since the start of this year, when they had resolved to take action, he had barely smiled at all, and his laughter had become rarer than a four leafed clover.

"My parents." replied Enjolras, with nothing short of a grin.

"Your parents?" interjected Joly in amazement. It was common knowledge that Enjolras's bourgeois parents despaired of him and contacted him only to tell him what a disappointment he was. "And the letter amuses you?"

"Oh yes!" chuckled Enjolras. "Some young fool of a Gendarme has made my sister an offer of marriage!"

"And you're happy about that?" asked Prouvaire disbelievingly, deciding that Enjolras had gone temporarily out of his senses. Joly and Combeferre exchanged confused glances.

"Of course not!" said Enjolras said gleefully. "She's flatly refused him, which naturally my parents are attributing to my appalling influence. It makes for quite a funny read!"

"Of course!" Combeferre explained to the others. "Christine would never accept someone whom her brother so disapproved of! She adores Julien and has always followed his example. And we did speak so ill of the Gendarmes the last time we were home!" Combeferre's family estate was next to Enjolras's.

"And of course my parents are horrified that she is following in my footsteps instead of my older brothers and sister." said Enjolras, with a rare hint of youthful joy showing in his face. Indeed, it was incredible to see him so bright and cheerful. He'd been so solemn for so many months that many of them had almost forgotten what he was like when he laughed.

"I still remember their faces when René brought her home that kitten." Combeferre chuckled. "I've never laughed so much in all my life."

"Do I sense an anecdote approaching?" grinned Joly as they sat down at the table. "Go on, Julien. Tell us about it."

"Well, when my brother René was studying in Paris, he used to come home for a weekend once every month." Enjolras began. "And on one occasion he announced that he had a surprise for Christine, my youngest sister. It turned out to be a kitten."

"A little silver and black stripy one." interjected Combeferre. "It was tiny – barely a handful. I was staying at Julien's that weekend."

"She was only six or seven at the time." continued Enjolras, grinning. "So, as you can imagine, she was delighted with it. She sat and petted it for hours, beaming from ear to ear. And then, just before she went to bed, René asked her 'What are you going to call him, _ma petite_?'"

"And she said 'Robespierre'!" Combeferre exploded with laughter, leaning back in his chair. "Oh God, I wish you could have seen Julien's parents! Their faces! It was priceless!" Suddenly, the little room was full of friendly laughter.

"Poor Christine, she couldn't work out what she'd done wrong!" laughed Enjolras helplessly, pushing a loose strand of hair back. "It took the threat of the kitten being sent away altogether before she would change its name."

"Were you teaching her about the revolution at the age of six?" inquired Prouvaire, tears of mirth running down his face.

"Of course not!" said Enjolras. "She'd had a nightmare a night or two before and she came running through to me. I was lying in bed reading a book on the revolution – one of the ones that we smuggled out of your father's study, Etienne – when she came into my room. She was terrified and she wanted to stay with me so I went to hide the book away again. She asked what I was reading about and I told her it was about a man called Robespierre. She wanted to hear a story about him, but I could hardly tell her about him being guillotined when she was frightened already, so I just told her that he was a brave hero."

"And she named her kitten after him!" laughed Courfeyrac uncontrollably. "Oh God, that's funny!"

"How Julien and I managed to keep straight faces in front of his father is beyond me!" grinned Combeferre. "His face was such a picture!"

"I know!" chuckled Enjolras. "And of course, they decided that I was the one to blame. Do remember what he…"

Suddenly, the door of the back room opened and Luc Grantaire crossed over the threshold.

And, as quick as a flash, the laughter died from Enjolras's face. His bright eyes hardened and his eyebrows shot down. The dazzling smile that had lit up his face only moments before disappeared, to be replaced with a glower of anger and disgust that could turn a person to stone.

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**To be continued...**


	4. Confrontation

**I'm sorry this chapter's been a while in the making. I've been ill and had a ton of homework - not a good combination. Reviews would be gratefully recieved.**

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**CHAPTER FOUR - CONFRONTATION**

The room went deadly silent. The other students already knew how Grantaire had let Enjolras down and they were nervously anticipating the explosion which might occur any moment now.

"_Bon soir_, Luc." said Prouvaire, his voice even softer than usual, as he cast an anxious look at Enjolras. "How are you?"

"Still half-dead from the headache I had this morning!" joked Grantaire, aware that there was some tension in the room, but not entirely sure what the cause was. He had very little memory of the night before.

Courfeyrac held his breath, inwardly cursing Grantaire's choice of words. Of all the things to say in front of Enjolras at that moment!

Combeferre looked at Enjolras apprehensively, wondering how his friend was going to react. He bit back an ironic chuckle at the sight of his face. Julien's parents would have been proud of him right then – his face was cold, distant and detached, without a shred of emotion on show. He looked like a real aristocrat.

Enjolras didn't even acknowledge Grantaire's presence. He looked straight through him, with an icy disgust playing around his mouth. Grantaire noted this and swallowed nervously as he took his seat. Still there was not a sound from the blond leader.

"By the way Jehan, did anyone ever tell you that green and red clash disastrously?" asked Grantaire amusedly, glancing at Prouvaire's waistcoat and cravat.

"Yes, Jerôme did." said Prouvaire, raising his eyebrows wryly. "Ten times this morning."

"I believe we'b subbenly found Jerome's area of exbertice!" said Joly around his outstretched tongue, which he was examining in his little pocket mirror.

"Christophe!" cried Combeferre in exasperation. "Stop it, for God's sake! There is _nothing _wrong with you!"

Joly blushed and hastily stuffed his mirror back in his medical bag.

"Sorry Etienne." he said embarrassedly. "Force of habit, I suppose."

"What's a force of habit?" demanded Bahorel, as he and Feuilly came into the room.

"Nothing!" said Joly hastily, blushing again. "Is there any sign of Bossuet?"

"Well I heard a clamour on the stairs. It sounded like some one had fallen down them, so I trust Bossuet will be joining us in a matter of moments." grinned Feuilly and, sure enough, Bossuet limped into the room a few minutes later.

"Now that we're all here, I think we should begin." said Enjolras in his smooth, authoritative voice, as he got to his feet. "I thought it best that were all here to hear each other's reports. We will be able to plan more efficiently in that way. Etienne, do you want to go first?"

"Of course." Combeferre got to his feet, pulling his list of statistics out of his lapel pocket. "Overall, the meeting there went splendidly. As Julien said, there are a lot of good men there and the majority of them are of our mind. They're keen and have promised to support us when the time comes. I've got the numbers here as regards the number of guns we can expect…"

Grantaire shifted uneasily in his chair, as Combeferre's gentle tenor melted into a distant blur. He didn't take his eyes away from Enjolras's grim face. The young law student was watching Combeferre with his usual intenseness in his eyes; clearly taking in every single word. The pride in his friend was also clearly noticeable to anyone who knew him well. It made Grantaire's heart sink to think that he would never see such warmth directed at him.

Though he had little memory of the night before, he now had a vague idea of the line things had taken. He knew he had not spoken of the Republic and he was painfully aware that he had no list of numbers to present like the one Combeferre was holding, or the one which Bossuet was folding and unfolding as he listened. At that moment, he despised himself.

"A job well done, Etienne." said Bahorel heartily. "They're good men. I knew we could count on them! I used to play billiards with a few of them."

"Thank you, Etienne." Enjolras smiled softly, or at least gave a hint of a smile. "Christophe, do you want to continue?"

"Of course." Joly smiled broadly; all thoughts of illness gone in the instant he realised that all his friends were counting on him. He stood up smoothly, with natural elegance. "Well, as you know, I went to see how the situation was with the medical students. Etienne and I have a few good friends there, and they've been discreetly making enquires as to who shares our opinions. We called them all together last night and explained the situation to them. While I was not able to gather numbers as great as Etienne did, we can count on a substantial amount of support when the times come. Even a few who were against the idea of conflict said that they'd be willing to tend the wounded."

Joly fished out a crumpled piece out of his pocket and scanned it quickly. He recited the neat figures that he had taken the night before, then he handed the paper over to Enjolras.

"They're nothing spectacular, compared with some of the others." said Joly solemnly. "But they're definite. Those are definitely men and weapons we can count on."

"Excellent! Thank you, Christophe." Enjolras nodded seriously. "Good job. Feuilly, how did your meeting turn out?"

One by one, all of the Amis got to their feet and explained the outline of their meeting from the night before. Each one produced a list of names, numbers and statistics; some lengthy, some not so lengthy. But everyone had produced something. Grantaire felt as low as a worm, knowing that he'd let them all down.

The room went silent as Enjolras got to his feet. All eyes were turned to him, respect etched on every single face. It was simply the natural reaction; Enjolras had a persona that simply commanded deference and respect and everyone in the room was thoroughly ensnared by the intensity in his eyes and the passion in his voice.

"As you all know, I reserved the Cougourde for myself." he began. "It went splendidly well. They were a bit wary at first, but the reserve fell away when a few of the elder men, who were somewhat royalist sympathisers, departed. They assured me that their own sympathies were firmly on our side, and that we may be sure of their support when the time draws near. I took a note of the men and guns that we could definitely count on, and another list of those which have yet to be confirmed. It makes for quite a satisfying list, _mes amis_. I'll read it to you."

Enjolras made his way through his notes, his smooth voice full of intense emotion, while his youthful face fairly glowed.

"I think we should conclude the meeting here tonight." said Combeferre sensibly, once Enjolras had finished talking. "The time for battle is growing nearer and, while support is being raised all around us, so is suspicion. That dark-haired inspector has been prowling about this street much too often for my liking recently. The last thing we want is for the likes of him to get hold of Julien or Christophe – that would shatter our plans before we'd even been able to begin. They have more contacts than any of us, and Julien is central to all our plans. I think we should adjourn now and meet again tomorrow at the Lemblin."

"Always the cautious one, Etienne." Feuilly nodded approvingly. "I must say, I agree. It would not do for us to become careless now. Being apprehended before we are able to make our stand will hardly make for an impressive tale, will it?"

"Certainly not." said Enjolras, gathering all the lists of numbers into an orderly pile and slipping them inside his law textbook. "Etienne is right. We can meet at the same time again tomorrow night. That is convenient for everyone, yes?"

There was a general murmur of assent and they all rose to their feet, scraping back chairs and pulling on their jackets.

"Hold a moment!" exclaimed Bahorel, his dark brows knitting. "What about the Barriere du Maine? Aren't we going to hear the report from there?"

"I'm afraid that I was unable to send someone trustworthy there." said Enjolras icily, as Grantaire lowered his head, an expression of deep hurt upon his face. "And so it remains uncovered at present. I intend to go there myself at the nearest opportunity."

"But…didn't you send Luc there?" asked Feuilly, who, like Bahorel, was oblivious to how Grantaire's time there had been spent. "Wasn't it a convenient time to gauge their emotions?"

"Grantaire did not gauge their emotions, Jacques, he had much more pressing matters to attend to." Enjolras's clear voice was dripping with sarcasm. "The game of dominoes he was engaged in required all of his attention, so you will understand why the task had to be put off."

Feuilly looked sympathetically at Grantaire, who was cringing in his seat, looking stricken. It was most unusual to hear Enjolras speak in such a manner, but it must be so much more unpleasant to be on the receiving end of it. As Grantaire looked up, with the expression of a condemned man, Feuilly gave him a reassuring smile.

'_Don't worry.'_ he mouthed silently. '_He'll forgive you in time_.' But Grantaire just shrugged hopelessly.

The amis bid each other cordial and cheerful farewells, heading off in the usual dribs and drabs; Bahorel with Feuilly, Joly with L'Aigle, while Courfeyrac, Prouvaire and Combeferre waited for Enjolras.

"Go on." Enjolras gestured absently towards the door. "I'll catch you up. I shan't be a moment."

Suddenly, there was no one but he and Grantaire in the room. Enjolras disdainfully ignored the sceptic; gathering up his armful of books with an air of unconcern. Grantaire, chewing his lip nervously, approached the table.

"Julien, I…" he began, then faltered. Enjolras glared at him as he put his books onto the table in a neat pile and pulled on his jacket roughly.

"What do you want?" he demanded coldly. "Have you managed to remember which domino you won the game with?"

"I just wanted to say…I'm sorry." Grantaire protested weakly, practically quailing under Enjolras's stony glower.

"I'm sorry too!" snarled Enjolras. "I'm sorry that I actually took you seriously for once and gave you a chance! I'm sorry that I actually thought you wanted to be a part of this!"

"I do!" said Grantaire fervently. "I do want to be a part of this!"

"You've had your joke now; you've made a fool of me. I hope you found it funny." Enjolras continued, completely ignoring the interruption. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to head home."

"It wasn't meant to be a joke, Julien! Please believe me!" pleaded Grantaire, grabbing his arm and startling the icy-faced blond.

"Believe you? I trusted you goddamned hypocrite and you let me down!" cried Enjolras furiously, his voice rising. "I needed that report, it was vital to our plans! I must have been out of my senses to trust you. You don't believe in anything!"

"I believe in _you_, Julien!" said Grantaire emotionally, echoing his sentiment of the night before.

"If you believed in me, Grantaire, you would not have drunken yourself insensible last night!" said Enjolras quietly, using the other man's surname to convey his scorn; refusing to address Grantaire by his Christian name, as Grantaire was doing to him. "If you believed in me, you wouldn't interrupt the meetings with rambling nonsense, you wouldn't scorn the cause, and you would not betray me!"

"I would never willingly betray you, Julien, I swear by my own life!" said Grantaire desperately, with tears in his eyes. He tightened his grip on Enjolras's eyes. "I'm sorry about last night. I didn't mean for it to happen! I went there with the best intentions, honestly I did!I just started drinking and I couldn't control myself! Let me make amends, please! I'll do anything for you, Julien, anything at all! Just trust me! I'll be attentive in every meeting; I'll…"

"Whether you attend the meeting or not is your own choice." said Enjolras flatly, shaking off Grantaire's hand. "It is nothing to me if you are there or absent. I gave you a chance once, Grantaire. I will not be so stupid again!"

"Julien, wait!" cried Grantaire, his voice breaking, but it was too late. Enjolras had left the room, slamming the door behind him.

And in the back room of the Café Musain, alone and dejected, Luc Grantaire slumped down at a table and began to weep.


	5. Grantaire Does Believe!

**Bonjour again Mes Amis!**

**Firsty, I apologise for how appallingly long this chapter has taken, but my Mizzie Muse has gone on a temporarily holiday.**

**Secondly, thanks so much for all the reviews. They made me really happy.**

**Diclaimer: In this chapter, I mention Claude LeClair, my OC from my first fanfic. He's the only one who's mine. Unfortunately, the rest belong to Hugo.**

**And finally, this is NOT supposed to be slashy!**

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CHAPTER FIVE: GRANTAIRE DOES BELIEVE 

Luc Grantaire attended every meeting from that point on and strove to stay sober throughout. He refrained from making any sarcastic or mocking comments and listened to every word that was said.

Paradoxically, though he was quieter, he drew the attentions of the others far more often than he did before. Combeferre would smile kindly and say he was doing himself proud by abstaining from drink. Courfeyrac would grin and make a point of coming over and making him laugh by his latest tail of laziness from the law school. And quiet Prouvaire would always attempt to comfort him by saying that the fact that Enjolras hadn't ordered him to stay away was proof that the blond leader did not hate him.

_But he certainly doesn't like me_! thought Grantaire miserably as he watched Enjolras cheerfully exchange banter with Joly and Combeferre. He'd always known that Enjolras was closest to the two medical students, but seeing the warmth he showed them compared to the frigid and icy contempt that Grantaire himself received was heartbreaking.

"You're brooding again, _mon ami_." whispered a teasing voice beside him, and Grantaire looked round to see Sebastien Bahorel sitting beside him. "Luc, you cannot _force _him to smile! He's a stubborn fool; you know that as well as I do!"

"I just wish I could prove myself to him!" murmured Grantaire, absently sipping his now cold coffee. "He thinks I don't care, Sebastien. He thinks I don't believe in him! God, I would give my bloody life to show him that I do care! I'd follow him anywhere!"

"That is the trouble, I think." said Feuilly thoughtfully. "You'd fight for Enjolras, not for the Republic. In Julien's eyes, it is not enough to only be a half-believer."

"It is for me!" insisted Grantaire firmly. "And one day I will prove it to him!"

"I'm sure you will." replied Feuilly encouragingly. "And he will see you for your true worth."

Those words served to make Grantaire's face light up in the first smile he'd shown in a fortnight. He gulped down the last of his coffee and turned his face attentively to the tall slim blond who had risen to his feet and cleared his throat.

"Now, as you know, the nine of us…" began Enjolras and Grantaire swallowed hard, looking back to the table top.

_Nine of us_, Enjolras had said. The nine being himself, Combeferre, Joly, L'Aigle, Bahorel, Feuilly, Courfeyrac, Prouvaire…and Marius! God, that hurt!

How could Enjolras overlook Grantaire for Marius, who, it had to be said, seemed to spend half the time unsure if he was coming or going! Grantaire felt an unbridled resentment for that day-dreaming Bonaparist had only been in their company for how long…a year maybe?

Grantaire had been a companion of the other Amis since about 1928, back when Enjolras had been a naïve first-year, when Joly had been convinced he'd contracted the measles, when Courfeyrac had simply still been Courfeyrac and Claude LeClair had still been alive.

Grantaire had liked LeClair. He'd been poor as a church-mouse but he'd promised to have a brilliant medicinal career. He'd died three years ago, struck down by a fever that had almost taken Enjolras from them too.

That was when Grantaire had truly become one of the Amis. He'd realised exactly how much he loved Enjolras. He was not _in love_ with Enjolras, that distinction was very clear, but he loved him nonetheless. He loved the blond just like Combeferre did, like Joly did…like the others did- as a leader, as a rebel and as a friend. But while Enjolras trusted the others, he sneered Grantaire.

_How bloody dare he say I believe in nothing!_ Grantaire thought suddenly, looking at the focus of his admiration with turmoil in his eyes. _I mourned for Claude the same as he did! I would give anything to bring him justice! I would follow Julien to whatever end, if only he would just trust me!_

Suddenly Enjolras met his eyes. Ice-blue stared straight into emerald green and Grantaire swept his dark hair back nervously. He made a very feeble attempt at a smile, while his eyes were silently screaming for Enjolras to smile back.

Enjolras sighed. He wished Grantaire would just stay away. Seeing him was an uncomfortable reminder of the trust that had been betrayed. Growing up in a family, the majority of whom were Royalists, who mostly disapproved of him, had taught Enjolras to cherish any real friendship he encountered. Having such a friendship thrown back in his face by Grantaire had hurt him bitterly. He lowered his eyes and turned away from the sceptic.

The ever-alert Combeferre had noticed the tense look that the two of them had shared. He shook his head, an amused exasperation showing on his kind face. Two incredibly stubborn young men! Enjolras thought that if he admitted he actually _did _count Grantaire as a friend, it would be thrown back in his face, while Grantaire thought that admitting his devotion to the blond would be met with scorn. If the two of them would stop being so difficult, the meetings would have a far more relaxed atmosphere and they could focus on the important up-coming insurrection! Not that Enjolras wasn't focused of course...everyone could see that the young man was fairly bubbling over with anticipation.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was two weeks later, when Grantaire was idly leafing his way through a book, that he heard Bahorel and Feuilly conversing as they played billiards. He heard three words that shot a thrill up his spine.

"June the fifth."

Grantaire leapt to his feet and rushed unseeingly out of the Café Lemblin. He ran past the law school and stopped for a moment at the entrance.

"I will prove to you, Enjolras, that I do believe!" he said firmly, his voice suddenly rich and firm and a pleasure to listen to. "I do believe, and the time is near when you will realise it."

Grinning from ear to ear, Grantaire dashed back down the street, his spirits as high as a soaring eagle.

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**A bit of a cheesy ending I know, but I couldn't resist! Please let me know what you think.**


	6. I Believe

**Wow, I finally finished this! The bits in italics are straight out of the novel.**

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The atmosphere was charged and excited. Students, workers and the other insurgents were loading guns, sharpening blades and talking high-spiritedly about their chances of success. 

Enjolras, his normally pallid cheeks tinted by a flush of anticipation, was checking on the preparations with Combeferre and Courfeyrac. They were talking about ammunition with one of the men from the Cougourde when their attention was taken by a loud, drunken voice behind them.

"Oh Luc!" sighed Combeferre sadly. "Please say you didn't!"

But he had.

Grantaire was drunk beyond belief, shouting nonsense at the top of his voice. Men were either staring at him in shock, or laughing at him.

"Why did he come here?" asked Enjolras furiously. "He does not belong here!"

Combeferre looked at Grantaire with eyes that were wells of pity, but Courfeyrac – all his mischievous playfulness gone at this time of action – glared at him angrily. However much he played around at other times, he took this day very seriously.

"_Stow it, you wine-cask!" he shouted._

"_Grantaire," Enjolras called. "Go and sleep your wine off somewhere else. This is a place for intoxication, but not for drunkenness. Don't dishonour the barricade."_

The colour drained from Grantaire's face, and the effects of the alcohol wore off completely. He saw the piteous look he was receiving from Combeferre, the exasperated face of Courfeyrac and Enjolras's glare. He squared his shoulders.

"_You know I believe in you."_

"_Go away."_

"_Let me sleep it off here." _

"_Go and sleep it off somewhere else." said Enjolras._

_But Grantaire, still regarding him with troubled, gentle eyes, persisted:_

"_Let me sleep here and, if need be, die here."_

_Enjolras looked scornfully at him._

"_Grantaire, you're incapable of believing or thinking or willing or living or dying."_

"_You'll see." said Grantaire gravely. "You'll see."_

He sat back down at the table near the window, refusing to budge. The others turned away impatiently and, when no one's eyes were on him, Grantaire slid a gleaming carbine from his pocket, cocked it and laid it on his lap beneath the table.

"You _will_ see, Julien." he muttered in a voice unintelligible to the others. "I am capable of so much more than you think!"

And so saying, he laid his head on the table, and succumbed to sleep.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Grantaire knew no more until he was jerked sharply back into consciousness some time later. Looking up, his bleary eyes saw a flash of gold.

Enjolras.

Grantaire shook himself. Enjolras was alone – which meant only one thing. The others were dead, for he would have deserted none of them!

'What the hell is he doing?' Grantaire thought in bewilderment.

Enjolras was standing with his back to a wall, making no attempt to defend himself. There were a group of National Guards standing before him with primed muskets and he was not fighting them!

Grantaire was trying to comprehend the situation when he heard Enjolras's voice, as calm and steady as it always was, say two words that carried across the room.

"Shoot me."

No…

Grantaire sat for a moment, frozen in horror, until he heard the sergeant cry: "Take aim!"

In a moment, all flashed clear in Grantaire's mind. If all the other Amis were dead, then what was the point of staying alive? This was his chance to prove that he _did_ believe; that he was not worthless; that he could stand as tall and proud as all of the others had. He got to his feet and ran across the room.

"_Long live the Republic! I am one of them!"_

He stood beside Enjolras, who flashed him a glance of bewilderment. His blue eyes showed no disdain – only confusion.

"_Might as well kill two birds with one stone," said Grantaire; and then, turning to Enjolras, he added gently. "If you don't mind."_

_Enjolras clasped his hand and smiled. _

And suddenly, nothing mattered to Grantaire. Not his headache; not the horror outside; not the muskets pointing at his chest. Enjolras had smiled at him. Accepted him. Made him feel like someone worthwhile. Everything was alright now…

"FIRE!"

An earth-shattering explosion sounded in the small café and the two surviving rebels were suddenly pierced by flaming shards of pain. Grantaire grimaced at the pain, but his cry died on his lips as the world went dark around him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Where the hell am I?" Grantaire sat up and looked around him.

He was in a garden – a wide green expanse of trees and plants, dotted with stone benches. The sun was shining brightly overhead, warming his face. He could hear birds singing cheerfully.

He passed his hand over his face and looked down at the ground. Enjolras was lying on the ground beside him, his eyes shut, a peaceful expression on his face. The memory of the insurrection flooded back. He was dead. He's been shot by a firing squad.

"Julien, wake up!" Grantaire called softly. Enjolras's eyes snapped open and he sat up quickly. Grantaire smiled softly. Enjolras looked back at him with confusion and gentleness in his eyes.

"You gave up your life for a cause you cared nothing for." he said, his voice soft and uncertain. "After all I said to you. Why?"

"I told you." smiled Grantaire, reaching out to put a hand on the blond's shoulder. "I didn't need to believe in the Republic. All I needed was to believe in you."

"Thank you, _mon ami_." replied Enjolras, his eyes shining. He held out his hand.

Grantaire, smiling from ear to ear, accepted it and shook it warmly. _Mon ami..._that was what he had died for!

"Ah! Here they are! We wondered when you two were going to join us!" called a teasing voice suddenly. A voice that only could belong to Courfeyrac.

They shot to their feet and looked round, grins lighting up both their faces, to see eight young men running towards them. Eight young men, whom they recognised at once.

There was Courfeyrac, radiating cheerful mischief, his hair all over the place, with his arm around a beaming Prouvaire. Nearby was a laughing Joly, who was clapping L'Aigle on the back while Combeferre mirrored the gesture, his eyes shining with joy.

Feuilly and Bahorel, yelling like school boys, were bringing up the rear, each with an arm slung around a young man with floppy chestnut hair and green eyes – Claude LeClair; the ami who'd died before they could make their stand.

"You finally got here!" cried Combeferre happily, embracing a somewhat dazed Enjolras, as Bahorel gave Grantaire a hearty clap on the back.

"Where is _here_ exactly?" asked Enjolras.

"A place where there is no injustice, _mon ami_!" grinned LeClair, shaking his hand.

"A place where we are all united by friendship!" cried Prouvaire happily.

"A place where we are united by our loyalty!" smiled Feuilly. Grantaire and Enjolras shared a meaningful smile.

"Yes," said Enjolras softly. "By loyalty, and because we all believe."

FINIS

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